Hope
by sqifer-fan
Summary: Oneshot: Written for the Valentines Day Contest for FirexIce a satoshidaisuke fanclub at deviantart . com. contains Shonen ai SatoDai. conditons: Valentines Day fic!


Hope

Satoshi x Daisuke

PG 13 – A bit of angst, shonen ai

* * *

He stared at the clean canvas, willing inspiration to come forth. It had been so long since he had felt the need to paint, been so long since he had seen the colour of the world, and yet he still could not find his inspiration. He picked up a paintbrush and twirled it between his fingers. It had been just over a year since his beloved Riku had been killed in a freak car accident. It was so stupid – an animal had jumped out in front of the car, causing him to panic and lock the car wheels up, spinning around and around, Riku screaming… until a sickening thud shook the car and the abrupt silence was the last thing he heard as the world turned dark. He shook his head violently, squeezing his eyes shut tightly against the barrage of memories. It felt as though his world had stopped turning from that point forward, unable to see past his own grief, anger and guilt that sat deep within his soul. Slowly they all turned away, shaking their heads sadly, wondering where the bright young man they had known had gone, and pitying the cold shell that was left behind in his place. He locked himself up in his art room, sitting in front of a blank canvas much like this one. He found no beauty in the world, and so the canvas stayed blank as dust gathered on the untouched paint box. And then _he_ came back, walking through the front door and wrapped his arms around the red-head as they stood in the hallway of Daisuke's home. Satoshi said nothing, and Daisuke replied with silence. He didn't need to say a thing – Satoshi understood without words the pain he was feeling inside, saw the hopelessness that once graced his eyes mirrored in Daisuke's, and so he just held the red-head in his arms as the red-head finally allowed himself to cry.

Daisuke's hand reached out to the paint box beside him. From that point forward, Satoshi would come around every afternoon, sitting in silence up in the art room on the couch as Daisuke ignored him, refusing to take his eyes from the scenery outside the patio doors. Small gifts found their way to the side table – a small bag of candy from the local sweetshop (the fact that Satoshi knew and remembered his favourite lollies did not go unnoticed, just ignored), a small fish and avocado sushi roll, a paintbrush with a small pot of paint. Each day he would come by, place his small offering on the table beside the red-head, and patiently retreated to the couch, never taking his eyes from the red-head. On the sixth day Daisuke ate half of the offered gift (another sushi roll of a different kind), and on the eighth day asked "Why?" Satoshi just smiled and handed him another helping of rice, "Because I want to be here." He never pushed, slowly coaxing Daisuke from the sidelines, regaling him with tales of his explorations across Europe, of the near misses he had with security guards who didn't believe that sealing artwork was important enough to warrant letting him break into the museum/art gallery/private home unchecked. This brought a small smile to Daisuke's face ("Dark would be quite proud of you. Maybe you should team up with him one day." "Hell would freeze over before I ever sunk as low as to work along side him."). Slowly the servings got a bit larger, the fleeting smiles lasting just a tad longer before disappearing. He organized trips to the nearby beach, and the two would sit there in silence, staring out at the ocean as they dug their feet into the cold sand.

Blending the paints together into just the right shade (a blue just a tad darker that the sky), he touched the brush to the canvas. At Christmas Satoshi had brought a small tree, (barely reaching his shoulders) and Daisuke passed to him the decorations to be hung up. They shared a small dinner between the two (some warm ham with salad), and later curled up on the coach as they watched the snow fall softly, Christmas carols playing dimly in the background. He had laid back against the blue-head, resting his head in the croak of Satoshi's arm, and for the first time in months smiled a true smile. More colours appeared on the canvas. Over the last month he found himself memorizing the way the morning light would highlight the blue tone of Satoshi's hair, the way his eyes would change shades according to his emotions (light blue when he was sad, a sky blue when he was happy, a dark blue when he stared at the red-head when he thought Daisuke wasn't looking). He saw the beauty in the smile that was reserved only for him, and felt the warmth of Satoshi's hand in his as they walked along the beach. It seemed much easier to smile these days, and the pain started slowly fading into memory. He wanted to thank Satoshi for catching him as he fell, for standing beside him no matter how cold he was towards him. He wanted to tell Satoshi just how much he meant to him, but when he finally had the words to say, he just couldn't seem to say them out loud. A signature completed the first artwork he had made since the death of his wife, and he sat back to admire his work. It was perfect for what he needed, and with a satisfied smirk wrapped the painting up and placed it on the kitchen table.

Satoshi let himself in, hanging his coat up on the coat rack beside the door. A quick glance in the living room found a slumbering Daisuke on the couch, hands still smeared with dry paint. Satoshi ran his fingers light along the red-head's face, resting gently on his cheek for a few moments before Satoshi placed a single red rose in the vase on the coffee table. Entering the kitchen with thoughts of dinner on his mind, he almost missed the flat package that laid on the table. Noting his name written on the plain baby blue wrapping paper, he slowly unwrapped the present. Holding the painting up, Satoshi smiled. He sat on the beach, side to the viewer as he looked out to sea, the wind softly ruffling his moonlit hair as he dug his bare feet into the sand. The smile grew more tender as he read the message Daisuke had written in his neat, flowing hand writing, and walked back into the living room, placing a kiss upon the red-head's lips. Eyes opening at the contact, Daisuke smiled back as he pulled the blue-head down for another (more passionate) kiss, the artwork laying forgotten on the table, with the words that Daisuke had wanted to say bared for all to see:

_Thank you for being my rock, my inspiration, my life. You are my everything, and I love you for it. Happy Valentines Day Satoshi Hikari, Love Daisuke Niwa._


End file.
